Wasteland
by eulogy of a gunfight
Summary: Sanji's hiding something from the crew and Nami finds out.
1. Chapter 1

Nami stood on the foredeck, eating a fresh picked orange and enjoying the wind as it blew through her hair. They where anchored a short ways out from a small island and most the crew had gone ashore into the town that lie perched atop the tumbling rocky cliffs. She bit into the peeled fruit, feeling juices run down her chin and savoring the taste. It was a beautiful day, so beautifulshe felt sure that no power could spoil it. They'd entered the archipelago several days ago, and she thoroughly enjoyed the feel of the spring islands, such a welcome change from the violent winter storms they had only recently left behind.

In additon to the crappy weather, the last island had boasted the skeeviest city she'd seen in years. The narrow streets and skanky slums had seemed so dank, even the billowing snow was grey. But all that was a faraway dream here. As soon as they had entered this string of small islands, every color had seemed magnified and the waves sparkled brilliant blue as they danced beneath the bow.

She leaned back against the deck rail, licking the last of the orange from her fingertips. She thought of what the others must be doing now. Luffy was, undoubtably, eating. Zoro was likely wherever Luffy was, only he'd be drinking. Usopp was shopping, she'd sent him with a list. Franky was either with Usopp or at the lumberyard, and Robin and Chopper had gone questing for a bookstore. And that left Sanji. She was sure she'd heard him say that he'd stay, though she hadn't seen him all morning, not since the others had gone ashore. She wondered, vaguely, why he hadn't been pestering her. She didn't think too deeply into this, she wasn't about to question a good thing. He was annoying, didn't really matter where he was as long as he was out of her hair.

This thought darkened her mood. She shoved all thoughts of the bastard cook from her head, determined not to let a thing interfere with her day. However, she realized, she was still hungry. It was a bit past noon, by the sun, and she couldn't help but wonder again where the flirty chef was. Usually he'd have made lunch by now. She sighed, started down the stairs to the lawn deck. She took the stairs up to the second floor aft cabins by twos and found herself facing the dining room door.

As she stood there, hand on the door, she was striken by a strange feeling, so foreign on such a beautiful day, alien to this ship and crew. She felt unbearably lonely, until she turned the knob and the feeling was gone.

The first thing she noticed was how dark it was in the room. After the brilliance of the outdoors she could hardly see a thing. She stepped in and shut the door, rubbing her eyes. All the storm shutters where closed and latched and the single lantern on the ceiling was burning low. It was so dim she almost missed the black clothed chef slumped in a chair at the large table.

As her eyes ajusted to the gloom she noticed him, walked over and called his name. He didn't respond. She stood behind him, eyeing him cautiously, curiously. He sat as though trasfixed, and she followed his gaze to the table in front of him.

She felt the world shatter in an instant.

"Sanji-kun..." she whispered.

There was no reply.

"Sanji." formality was gone, replaced with worry and an undertone of panic.

"Sanji!" she screamed it, shaking him.

Whatever trance had held him was gone now, and he jolted awake. His head whipped around, and she found herself faced for a single instant with such fathomless hurt and anger in his dark eye, so much pain, before a wall came down and she saw only coldness. She couldn't breathe. She looked from his face, to that... and back to his cold, distant face. She couldn't speak.

"Nami." his voice was coarse, rough, worn as though it had traveled a very long way to reach her.

He hated the face she made, hurt, eyes full of questions he couldn't face.

She reached for it, suddenly, for that bundle unrolled on the table in front of him. To take it away. Make it dissapear. It wasn't opened, she saw, he hadn't yet... but he reached it first, rolled it quickly and stuffed it inside his crisp black jacket. He turned away from her, he couldn't bear to see that face anymore. Who was she anyway? Why did she care? What did it matter what he did, it had nothing to do with her. He hadn't even done anything. He stood, turned to leave. So what if he was running away, which he knew, he was. He didn't care. Some things weren't worth facing.

He felt a preassure on his arm. Her fingertips, grasping his coat. He stopped, felt her hand leave.

"Why?" she whispered.

She was met with such a glare, a look that promised hell should a breath of what she'd seen leave the room. With her panic she felt a wonder that a single eye beneath a curly brow could express so much pain and anger.

His lithe figure was sillhouetted against the radiant light as he opened the door and stepped out into the early afternoon. She stood, trembling a bit, composing herself before following him out into the glorious sunlight. It didn't seem so beautiful now, she thought. What she'd seen gripped her heart like the coldest of ice, and even the radiant summer sun couldn't reach her now.


	2. Chapter 2

Nami awoke early that morning, sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked over and found that Robin was, for once, asleep in her bed. This was a clear indication to the navigator that it was fucking early. She rolled over, tried to go back to sleep. Her thoughts strayed to the blonde chef, and she knew that any further attempt at sleep was futile.

He'd always seemed happy, hadn't he? His smile didn't seemed so sincere. And when it was, it was so small, so sad. She thought of the rare occasions on which he spoke to her without flirting. That was the way he spoke to men, to children and to elders. Basically, how he composed himself when interacting with anyone that wasn't a woman between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five. She thought she liked that person, the other Sanji. That person was so polar opposite from the one she was used to, but it was this strange other half that she had found in the dining room not two days before, with that bundle lying on the table that had frozen her heart in an instant. Why? The question surged through her veins. How could he? She wanted to blame him. How could he do this, and why would he hide it from them, his own nakama?She wished she understood. It hurt to carry this secret. It revolted her. She wondered for the hundredth time how any person could bear to do that to himself.

The man in question was also awake quite early, though this wasn't strange for him. No one would have thought anything amiss at a chef getting a head start on breakfast, which is exactly what he was doing. He busied himself with the stove, frying pan, unlocked the fringe. He melted butter, poured it in a baking dish. He added measured amounts of flour and milk. Added eggs. Added whatever. Didn't notice the ginger that had entered and watched him work. She pulled up a chair, the wooden legs scraping on the floor planking. He noticed this, half turned, caught a glimpse, and returned to his cooking. He sighed inwardly, expecting something along the lines of the spanish inquisition. Of course, one never expects that, and it never came. She just sat, watched with cold eyes as he went about is business.

He checked the recipe. It was new, he'd never made this before. It made for a good show, if cooked properly, and he had timed it to be done right when Luffy usually barreled into the kitchen in the morning. With the dish in the oven he turned to the stove, busying himself with an elaborate omelet and ignoring the pinprick stares at his back. Now he was peeling, slicing apples, now the apples where in a pot. The pot was on the stove, the apples where heating. Now he was cutting ham, into little chunks. Cracking eggs in the skillet. Scrambled them. Now he was chopping the spinach. The spinach was in the eggs, with the ham. The apples boiled. He turned down the heat.

The whole time she sat and glared, sat and wracked her brain, sat and condemned him for what she had seen. She eyed him, hostilely as he set the table. He pretended not to notice, went about his business, expressionless. Powdered sugar, syrup, they where on the table. Silverware. Cups. It was sickening, she thought. Was a normal life not good enough for him? Normal. Theirs wasn't normal, not by any standard. How could that not be exciting enough for him? He squeezed the oranges, made juice.

By then the kitchen smelled wonderful, a fact that was duly noted by both Robin and Zoro as they entered the kitchen. The swordsman was quite oblivious to the tension of the room, and though Robin noticed she made no indication. They took their seats at the table, followed shortly by Chopper and Ussop. Sanji greeted each with a nod of the head. Nami turned, her back to the chef as the slumped with her chin in her hands, elbows propped on the table. She flinched as the door barreled open, turning back in time to see an overeager Luffy restrained by Hana Hana no Mi arms and Sanji's foot, inches from the massive omelet the chef had taken from the stove mere seconds before. Franky followed, seating himself at the table as Robin hauled Luffy to his seat. Sanji served the omelet, the orange juice, and returned to the oven for his main course.

It made quite a show, as the recipe had promised. The pancake was greatly inflated, but to the crews amusement and Luffy's despair it quickly fell to the thickness of a regular pancake. Sanji served the apple syrup, cleared the empty serving platter that had held the omelet_,_ and sat in the last empty seat at the table. Nami was still picking at her omelet, oblivious to the world, when she found a piece of that strange new breakfast item on her plate. She looked up in time to see Sanji scoop a spoonful of the apple syrup onto the pancake on her plate. Their eyes met for a moment, then the contact was lost. She saw worlds in that moment, saw nothing she expected. No boredom with the world, no thrill seeking, no angst. She frowned at him but he was focused on his plate, eating. It was almost empty, he had hardly served himself anything and was scarfing it as though starved. She turned back to her own plate, confused.

Why? Again, she asked herself. Still no answer. She sighed, cut a bite of the pancake with the edge of her fork. She stopped, put down the fork. She turned to the chef, mouth open to speak. He was standing, taking his empty plate.

"Sanji." She spoke, quietly, insistent.

He cocked his eyebrow, flashed a quick smile, leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"It's a shame, when I can't even trust myself anymore." And he was gone, plate in the sink and he was out the door with a cigarette and lighter in hand.

She felt herself once again rearranging every thought, each link in the confused system that was her brain. And she took a bite of apples and pannekoeken.

_The dish that Sanji prepares in this chapter is a Dutch pancake known as "Pannekoeken". The recipe my mother uses is as follows;_

_Melt 1/2 a stick of butter into a 9 inch pie plate. Mix 3/4 cups flour, 3 eggs, and 3/4 cups of milk until the batter is fairly smooth, with a consistency of cream. Pour the batter into the pie plate. Cook for 20-30 minutes at 400 degrees. The pannekoeken will rise during baking and fall quickly after is is removed from the oven. Thus, it is best to serve immediately for the full effect. We usually eat it with apple syrup, though maple syrup or powdered sugar are both quite tasty as well. _


	3. Chapter 3

The light afternoon breeze pulled a puff of smoke from the lips of the Straw Hats' chef and tousled his golden hair as he gazed out across the brilliant cerulean waters. The bow of the Thousand Sunny cut through the brilliant sea as they cruised towards the next island in the tropic archipelago.

All told, Sanji thought, it was an average scene for the crew. Here he was smoking and planning for dinner, Luffy, Chopper and Usopp were fishing, Zoro was asleep on the deck, Robin was reading, Franky was tinkering, Nami was in her Milan grove. A very average day, albeit with beautiful weather. Not that he really noticed, but it was all the same.

Neither, for that matter, did the navigator. She was furiously picking milan, tearing the round fruits from the trees. She was pissed, her stupid nakama, he had gone weird on her. What a loser. How lame! A chain smoker is one thing, but this? No, there was no excuse for this. This was pathetic. Disgusting. This was ice cream scoops from a brain that had always been so discreetly clever. Was their life not good enough for him, that he had to turn to that?

After lunch and with the next island rapidly approaching the crew sprang into action. They followed their usual routine of anchoring the ship offshore. Franky and Usopp readied the Mini Merry to go ashore as the rest of the crew sorted out who should stay aboard to watch the ship. The island was unpopulated, so Sanji felt no need to go ashore immediately. The water barrels had been filled at the last island, as had the food stores. The island was fabulously beautiful, with a wide sandy beach gently sloping down to the softly rolling surf, but the serenity was suddenly punctured as Luffy, too impatient to wait for the Mini Merry, gomu gomu no rocketed his way to shore. Franky returned to the deck moments later, with large hands he ushered the crew down to the Mini Merry. He laughed, smiled, and told them all to have a super time but that he'd stay aboard to watch the ship and finish up some projects. Sanji, with a similar yet feigned cheeriness, chirped something about dishes and claimed he'd swim to the island later. He fawned over Robin, kicked Zoro, and after concluding he'd done enough posturing, retreated to the kitchen.

Nami watched the exchange from the upper deck, her mind consumed by the sinking disgust at the thought of the cook being alone with his... with that... she scraped her mind for an excuse and muttered something possibly relating to maps before ducking into her cabin. The craw scarcely noticed, with only Robin sparing a slight crinkled brow at the exchange before boarding the Mini Merry.

Sanji, for all that the navigator didn't trust him, was true to his word and set straight to work scrubbing pots and pans. The crew had scarcely left the ship and was elbow-deep in suds and whistling a disjointed tune, fully absorbed in the soap bubbles and bacon grease. The navigator, however, was too distracted to work. She'd sit and stare at the unfinished maps then stand and pace the room only to return again to her chair.

After perhaps a quarter of an hour she couldn't stand it anymore; she crept in the manner of thieves towards the kitchen, and, finding the door so slightly ajar, peered inside. She was almost disappointed to see the chef's lean muscled back flex beneath his dark coat as he scrubbed the bottom of a deep stew pot. She felt a wave of bitterness as she returns to her room.

The cycle repeated again, the pacing and sitting, standing pacing sitting. She grew impatient, she couldn't take it anymore. Surely, he was in there just then... she stood and walked out the door. The scene was the same, and again. A third time she went to check on him, anger rising in her chest. This time however, she never made it to the kitchen. Sanji was there on themain deck, his coat lying on a chair and he was unbuttoning his shirt.She watched, fascinated, as he striped his shirt off and tossed it casually over his coat on the chair. He shook his hair a bit, making no indication he had noticed her, then walked over to the edge of the ship and dove in a graceful arch to splash into the brilliant blue water. She saw him surface, and he swam strongly towards the shore.

She stood at the rail, watched him for a bit, then curiosity got the better of her. She climbed down to the main deck and grabbed his coat, reached into the inside pocket. She found a lighter and not one but two packs of cigarettes, one nearly empty, the other unopened. She opened the coat, looked in the opposite pocket and found the dreaded bundle. She felt a chill, even in the bright sunshine, and she quickly looked around only to find herself still quite alone on the deck. She pulled out the bundle and hesitantly untied it. Gingerly, as though it where a serpent waiting to strike, she laid out the bundle on the small table. An old spoon, blackened by fire. A syringe. A pair of unopened needles.

And a little twist of paper holding heaven and damnation inside.

She wondered how a little twist of paper could do these things to her, freeze her heart and chill her blood. She hated it. She hated what it might mean, and she hated that she even had to ask.

"...Why?" the word slipped from her lips, too faint for all but the wind as it swirled past, tousling her hair and prickling her skin.

She neatly rolled the bundle, tied it as it had been, and stuffed it back in his coat pocket as it had been as the tears began to swell in her eyes. Why? she wondered again. Why did he do this, and, why did she care what he did to himself?

She had trusted him. She realized it then, though she'd never really had more than a casual friendly interest in him, he was her nakama and she had trusted him. To find this now, it betrayed her trust somehow. Her faith in him, she believed him to be so simple, so honest, so true. He was strong, he never lost. He kicked the shit out of the bad guys, and he cooked great food. He was supposed to be a stable guy. Not a junkie. She hated herself for the hatred she felt for her nakama at that moment, and hated him all the more for making her hate one of her own cherished nakama. At the same time, another feeling slipped in unnoticed and she despaired for a young man who would poison his own self, for whatever reason. The tears fell in earnest now, as she tossed his coat and shirt back on the chair as he had left them. She retreated back to her room, feeling betrayed by him, but also by her own emotions.


End file.
